


The Badge Machine

by nagemeikenu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Crafts, Draco got a badge machine, Draco likes to craft, Other, POV Draco Malfoy, Voldemort's birthday and other nonsense, do i know what this is, it happened once in a discord server, no, no i don't know how to tag why do u ask
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:07:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26623390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagemeikenu/pseuds/nagemeikenu
Summary: Draco inherits Voldemort's badge machine because I said so. Here are three instances in which he used it!
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14
Collections: HP Crack!Fic Fest





	The Badge Machine

**Author's Note:**

> SO this was something that came up in a discord server and I called dibs. This is a self-prompt for HPCrack!Fic Fest, as I figured I needed a fest to ensure I actually wrote it. This is beta'd by the ever amazing purplechimera8, who is a dear friend and helped me when this accidentally turned into angst. Enjoy the true crack version of Crafting!Draco, as this is not explored in the books at all and should have been.

The first time he used the badge machine, Draco had no idea what he was doing. Even so, he’d always had an eye for design. It wasn’t complicated, but it was something he wanted to do well. Therefore, he took the time and consideration as well as giving a considerable amount of effort. Draco paced while considering the design now laying on his desk. He’d memorized it by now, but was still unsure of the charm. Would it do any harm to practice it on the paper? Well, he could take it to Flitwick, but he doubted the tiny man would approve of the nature of the charm. Some people simply had no vision, which included Crabbe and Goyle, whom he’d explicitly banned from contributing. They had no taste at all. Pansy, perhaps, would have some feedback he’d listen to. Well, unless he tested the charm, there would be nothing for her to judge. If worse came to worst, which Draco suspected it would, he would tell Flitwick he’d meant to enchant the drawing and it had gone (obviously) horrifically wrong. A bit of whinging and a touch of wailing ought to convince him he hadn’t meant malicious intent. There were two Champions from Hogwarts, after all. Perhaps it was natural that magic would seek a true victor (as long as it wasn’t Krum—Draco thought Krum dull and ill-qualified).

Circling back to the desk, he drew out his wand. Visualization was key in these charms. He could see the design clearly in his mind, and how he wanted the two parts to blend. With that image repeating in his mind, he knew he was ready to add the verbal aspect of the charm he’d written. Of course, he didn’t want to get caught, so he would have to speak quietly over the parchment. This was best done privately; he didn’t need the rest of his roommates knowing what he was up to. Drawing in a breath, he closed his eyes and spoke the enchantment with precise wand movements.

There was a moment in which Draco did not dare open his eyes again, but he didn’t smell burning, he did not hear an explosion like the ones Seamus Finnegan tended to cause. It seemed quite apt that an Irishman would have a flair for blowing things up. He, naturally, had avoided that particular error. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. There was nothing floating, no residue, no odor, no real sign that anything had gone wrong. He approached the desk carefully, ready to be disappointed at this first attempt.

Instead, he was delighted. The two halves had merged into one—or rather, one half had vanished. Hopefully, he’d done the next bit correctly. He tapped Diggory’s forehead, and watched the “Potter Stinks” half emerge. Once Potter’s head had sagged, Diggory’s smiling face came back. He couldn’t help but laugh. He, Draco Malfoy, had invented a charm  _ and it worked precisely as he’d hoped _ . On the first try! Certainly, no one could doubt he’d earned his “O” marks in Charms. This was just the start.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The second time he used the badge machine, it was for his friends. It was two years later, and Draco had refined this particular skill set. Gifts were special only if those friends couldn’t find the like anywhere else. When it was clear the effort and thought he’d put into the gift was of no import to one of the few he actually considered friends, it was absolutely time Draco narrowed his circle a bit. Draco stomped into the common room, followed closely by Pansy. The sting of betrayal made him seethe. He wasn’t interested in her excuses, her pathetic cries of “Draco, come  _ back _ !” It was clear that his knowledge, his  _ gifts _ , weren’t appreciated. If she didn’t know his value, that was her loss. He simply strode into his dormitory and settled in to do his Charms homework. After all, to think that Parkinson- because he wouldn’t call her by her first name anymore, that was reserved for  _ friends _ \- could interfere with his studies was laughable. She was so unimportant to him, he could sit and do his Potions work as well. Though Snape was no longer teaching that subject, he could do quite well on his own.

Once he’d distracted himself sufficiently, he set aside his homework and turned his attention to designs  _ certain people _ would actually appreciate. This was something he’d been using to distract himself from...other tasks, and it soothed him. Making enchanted badges was very niche, and no one else he knew was doing it. Ever since the Dark Lord had made his return, and found that Draco had been using his badge machine, well…

There was quite a bit of pressure to make good ones. Not that Parkinson would know anything about what made people look good. The brainless, tasteless girl had worn the yellow fields badge with her new fuschia blouse. It was abhorrent, it was  _ garish _ , Draco had felt sick looking at the ensemble. Naturally, she had chosen a black skirt to accompany it, which helped not at  _ all _ . It was disgusting. It was as if she hadn’t heard a word he’d said about pairing the badges with the tone of the colors, which ones would shine best with what shades. He was justifiably livid with her.

He finally emerged to go to dinner, knowing full well he’d not sit by her or even acknowledge her presence. Crabbe and Goyle would sit on either side, and he’d simply ensure she sat elsewhere. As expected, she sat directly in front of him. This time, she still wore her fuschia blouse, but she’d more sensibly used the black constellation badge he’d designed with her black skirt. For this, he didn’t protest her seating choice. Maybe she had some sense after all. If she had the sense to change the badge to a  _ proper _ match, she had the sense to apologize.

“Draco, I’m sorry. I just quite liked the fields and the way they made me feel when I looked at them. I didn’t take into account whether it matched, and I hurt your feelings. I know you hate it when you’re not listened to, and I want you to know that I did listen. I’m sorry.”

Well, Pansy was always very good at apologizing. Draco graciously accepted it and they moved on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The third time Draco used the badge machine was for Lord Voldemort himself. It seemed that even Voldemort celebrated a birthday, even though they were in the midst of a war and he had been certain that since Christmas hadn’t been celebrated, nor would anything else. Well, he’d been utterly wrong. He’d spent the past two weeks finagling the design, the charm, adjusting, experimenting with the ink colours—it really was the devil to work with—until he finally settled on his gift for the Dark Lord. Hopefully, everyone would be pleased with it, but especially him. He had worked so hard on it once he’d realised there would be a party, and his stomach churned in anticipation and anxiety. There was a small, black velvet box that fit the badge perfectly, and matched. Though he feared it was too plain, too simple, he simply tied a bow with a silver ribbon around it. Sometimes, he thought, simplicity was best. The result was elegant, classic, and suited the Dark Lord.

As the evening progressed, each member of their society offered gifts to the Dark Lord, all expensive and magical. Draco looked at the display of dragon skin boots, a cloak that adjusted to suit the most amiable temperature made out of pegasus tail hairs, a clutch of unicorn horns tied into a bouquet, and other magical artefacts offered from the family line. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that he should offer his Lord his gift when they were alone. Of course, that was not possible until later in the evening, after the meal. When he saw that his mother was speaking with the Dark Lord alone, he took his chance.

“Excuse me.” Draco tried not to grip the box too tightly; the sweat from his palms would make the ribbon droop.

“Draco,” the Dark Lord greeted him with a slight smile.

“Happy birthday, my Lord.” Draco held out the box, and managed not to tremble or drop it.

“Thank you,” the pale man replied, and took his time undoing the bow. Once he’d lifted the lid, the man’s face seemed to brighten. “I see you’ve made use of my badge machine.”

“Yes, my Lord. I’ve made sure it hasn’t simply collected dust for the past years.”

“I appreciate that. Good things should be used, and used well.” Lord Voldemort slipped the badge out of the box, and at his touch the badge came to life, transforming the image of Nagini into the Dark Mark.

“I designed it and charmed it myself,” Draco said. He didn’t quite know why he said it, but it was better than the awkward silence. “Do you like it?”

“It’s...it’s a fine bit of magic, Draco. Thank you.” Draco could have sworn there was a sheen of moisture over the Dark Lord’s eyes, but naturally said nothing. He didn’t know what he could have said, really, considering he was basking in the praise.

“Thank you, my Lord. Happy birthday.” Draco bowed briefly, then nodded to his mother. She was smiling at him, the one she wore when she was proud.

He thought his eyes felt a bit wet as well, and resolved to duck into the powder room to freshen up. Hours of a party were bound to catch up to him at some point.

**Author's Note:**

> **This work is part of the ongoing HP Crack!Fic Fest 2020.**
> 
> Please feel free to leave kudos/comments for the author here, or on our communities at [LJ](https://hpcrackficfest.livejournal.com/)/[DW](https://hpcrackficfest.dreamwidth.org/)/[Tumblr](https://hpcrackficfest.tumblr.com/).


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